


Some Assembly Required

by Kiltedsquirrel



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Episode: s11e02 This, F/M, Fluff, Humor, IKEA, Season/Series 11, Season/Series 11 Spoilers, Sexual Content, Some Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-07 15:18:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13437576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiltedsquirrel/pseuds/Kiltedsquirrel
Summary: After the events of 'This', Mulder and Scully take a trip to Ikea.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I live across the street from an Ikea so the idea for this story was too tempting. I actually wrote the notes for it in store using a wad of shopping forms and three miniature pencils.

"It's quiet," remarked Scully as they entered the vast showrooms of Ikea.  
  
Mulder checked his wristwatch. "Only a couple of hours until closing," he reasoned with a shrug. "Also the sale ended yesterday." They watched as a big yellow discount sign was carted away. "Guess everybody else shopped in the clearance period." He was nodding as he spoke like this made the most sense. "What?" he asked, seeing her brows peak.  
  
"We missed the sale?" She looked forlornly at the designer DIY displays. There wasn't a special offer in sight. A solitary reduction sticker lay discarded on the floor - a lost casualty of the discount battle. "Well that's poor timing," she complained giving a regretful look towards the now premium-priced Skagen floor lamps.  
  
"Yeah next time hitmen storm our home and spray the place with bullets, they should do it on the eve of a really great furniture bonanza," he said, slipping her a smile.  
  
"Inconsiderate," she agreed with a wry nod. 

Each glanced at the other's bruises. 

They'd shied away from the doors of Ikea ever since some flatpack trauma early on in their domestic relationship. Scully it seemed still harbored unpleasant memories.  
  
"We're following the instruction manual this time," she warned. "No repeats of the bookcase."  
  
"Well I get to hold the drill on my own," said Mulder. "And that bookcase holds up several books, Scully. Several."  
  
Ikea, with its maze-like layout, looked purposefully designed to ensnare customers and bewilder them into parting with their cash. The faux rooms were seductive, coaxing buyers to believe they too could enjoy trendy  lifestyles in tasteful homes if only they paired a jute rug with pendant lighting.  
  
At the end of the long, snaking path shoppers would find no Wizard of Oz, just dollar hotdogs and buyer's remorse.  
  
Scully was already making cooing sounds and fondling Nordic-styled novelties. It was clear they were going to get more than what they came in for.  
  
"Better keep our phones switched on," he said as they crossed into a jungle of brightly colored chairs.  
  
Getting there had been an expedition in itself. Mulder was adamant they weren't forking out for furniture delivery.  
  
"Not when I've got the van," he'd argued. He felt good about the van. It was a motoring icon. 

The VW Transporter was a salvaged heirloom from the Lone Gunmen trio. It was a reminder that small victories do happen. The modest still take on giants like in old stories. A dumpy tango dancer in Doc Martens, a head-banging hippy hacker, and a poindexter in a suit, can prevail.  
  
"It smells like liberty," Mulder had said as he tried to start the engine.  
  
"That's not what it smells like, Mulder," said Scully with a sleeve to her nose. "It's that cat who birthed two litters in here."  
  
It wasn't technically road worthy, as Scully went through great pains to point out. It was fundamentally slow. The seats were held together with liberal amounts of sticky tape and it was like sitting on broken pieces of concrete. Frohike had left behind a stack of nudey 90s calendars. There was mould on the dreamcatcher which danced about the rear-view mirror. Plus it used a shitload of gas. None of these features had endeared Scully to the vintage vehicle, which was a pity since Mulder was hoping for a good old fashioned Summer road trip.  
  
Still, he'd set his bronzed elbow on the open window and made the pilgrimage to Ikea in well under two hours, chucking out black smoke at every acceleration.  
  
"Am I pushing this thing or are you?" Mulder asked, already bored with the responsibility of a shopping cart. He didn't think they needed a cart or a bulky yellow bag. It had been foisted upon him by a guy in Ikea pinstripes at Scully's behest.  
  
Scully turned to him. She had on a tight jacket, tall heels and her loose hair was trailing her shoulders. The ball of her hand was rubbing dirty smudges from her clothes and cheek.  
  
"Well let's see, I had to push the van...," she pointed out, still visibly irritated from the journey. "So maybe you could push the cart." She watched as he manoeuvred it around a bend in the aisle. "What do you know, even the cart handles turns better."  
  
"It's a motoring icon," he reminded. He took up three bays parking it.

 


	2. Chapter 2

"Searching for inspiration to spruce up your home?" asked a pimply man in a pinstripe polo.  
  
"Tony, your name-tag is about the only thing I can read in here," said Mulder screwing his eyes up at words like Djupvik and Lycksele. He glanced at Scully who appeared half-fluent already.  
  
"Is the standard Poang available in Seglora? Or just the rocking-chair edition? How does the quality of Glose compare? I'm not sure about the contrast on the Finnsta - can I see it in birch? No, Smidig won't work," she said and finished with a polite smile.  
  
Tony's expert level response in Ikea-tongue, while impressive, was lost on Mulder. He rooted out a sunflower seed from his pocket and wondered hungrily about the smell of cinnamon rolls.  
  
"So what vibe are you creating this year? What stamp are you trying to put on things?" asked Tony, attempting to pull a distracted Mulder back into conversation while Scully dissected the chairs.  
  
"The vibe?" Mulder repeated.  
  
"Yeah, what flavor is coming across? What cues are you taking?"  
  
Mulder paused, giving glances at Scully's long, appealing hair, and her waist in that tiny tapered jacket. "I'd say 2003." He gave Scully another once over with his eyes. "Definitely 2003." He couldn't keep himself off her that year either.  
  
Tony rubbed the back of his neck and hesitated before making a response. "A coastal style? Glam? My last customer favored French country. Urban modern? Industrial? Eclectic?"  
  
"The last one. Very eclectic."  
  
"Do you have a neutral palette? What color scheme are you working with?"  
  
Mulder didn't know what color the walls were, it was obscured by all the eclectic crap he'd thumbtacked to it. "There's a lot of texture on the walls," he supplied.  
  
"That's interesting," nodded Tony. "It's good to add depth and layers to your design."  
  
Mulder was pleased. It wasn't clutter, it was depth and layering. He would inform Scully of this later.  
  
"Also if you have a neutral wall color, then perhaps consider one of our statement-making art pieces from the new collection. It can really draw the eye."  
  
Mulder's head bobbed as he considered this. "I think the shades of blood spatter and bullet holes have that covered."  
  
"Whaa?" Tony's eyes looked like they wanted to pop worse than his zits.  
  
"But thanks," Mulder added.  
  
Tony went on his break.


	3. Chapter 3

They continued on through the labyrinth of plastic and plywood. The furniture was displayed in room settings to first and foremost sell the lifestyle. Customers weren't shopping for flatpacks, they were buying success. A piece of furniture dressed correctly possessed unnatural power. It could make someone a better college student, a winning party host, or it could bring a family together. In short, consumers could see better versions of themselves, and it was available at affordable prices with a black-brown option.

Mulder and Scully ducked in and out of different zones like they were in a doll's house. The throws on the display beds were perfectly dishevelled and Scully quickly deposited two into the shopping cart.

"Or we could just share the one?" Mulder's smile widened into a leer. "No?" His eyebrows slumped. Something else had snagged her attention.

"Scully," Mulder called moments later and directed a finger to their left.  "Short cut to kitchens," he said with a gesture of hallelujah. He now understood how Andy felt after he crawled out of Shawshank. He looked self-congratulatory, like he alone had discovered the passage.

"Thank you Magellan," she muttered and went back to investigating drawer organizers.

"We'll get there in half the time."

Scully set down a wire basket as a small frown tightened her brow. "Mulder we're not taking any of the short cuts," she chided. The look on her face told him she had no damn time for a lazy wingman. A different drawer insert was picked up and turned over for inspection.

"If you tell me what it is you're looking for then maybe I can help?"

He must have made some error of judgment in asking her this because he received a deliberately cool look. She did however hand him a shopping form and a half-size Ikea pencil. Scully cleared her throat and proceded to read out the article number.

"703.891.02," she recited in a clear, precise voice.

It was a long ass number and the pencil was fiddly so Mulder rounded the figure up to 704. "Got it." He tucked the miniature pencil behind one ear and pushed on.

"It's all a conspiracy, Scully," said Mulder as he stumbled like a thirsty man in a desert. "This...meandering bazaar... with its conveyor belt of consumerism. We're rats in a maze, at the mercy of corporate and marketing psychology..."

Mulder rambled on, gesticulating to jugs and lanterns. He absently dropped some cheap office accessories into the cart because 75 cents for magnet clips was a fucking steal.

"...surrounded by environmental signals triggering spontaneous, unplanned purchases," he continued, wiping his weary, stubbled jaw. "Well they're not making a fool out of Fox Mulder," he said. Taking a stand, Mulder approached one of the dispensers and began filling his pockets with 2.5 inch pencils.


	4. Chapter 4

"Scully, there wasn't a shoot-out in the bathroom," he reminded her as they lingered too long at the shower heads. He couldn't fathom how a gunfight in the lounge and dining area now necessitated a bamboo bathmat.  
   
Their estimated bill was creeping up and up. Mulder blew out his cheeks. "I was thinking maybe we should split up - form a two pronged attack on this place." He was inching away even as he spoke.  
  
"Wow," she responded, picking through more Ikea curios. "That whole 'together for eternity' mood didn't last long." Scully quirked an eyebrow in his direction.   
  
It put the brakes on him. He almost bowed his head before noticing a teasing look in her eyes. There was mischief there, and affection. She smiled spontaneously and he watched it reflect across different vanity mirrors.   
  
He stayed put and smiled to himself.   
  
It was then he encountered Doug and his wife.  
  
Doug worked in insurance and flicked Mulder a business card. Spotting bruises on the pair, he pushed a few more into Mulder's hand. "Home improvements?" he asked.  
  
"We had hired contractors in," explained Mulder, anger roughening his voice.   
  
Doug nodded knowingly. "Been there, got the t-shirt. Devils, right?"  
  
"Not wrong," agreed Mulder.  
  
"Show up whenever they damn please and leave a pile of mess everywhere?"   
  
Mulder nodded.  
  
"Was the same when they took out our old kitchen," said Doug, propping his hands on his hips. "Sons of bitches."  
  
"Yeah they took out the lounge and kitchen at our place too."  
  
"Botched renovation?"  
  
"Botched assassination," corrected Mulder.  
  
Doug looked at him like he'd grown an extra head then shouted on his wife, "Doreen, grab that toilet brush hon, we're getting out of here."  
  
When Mulder's smirk ran out, he looked around for Scully.   
  
"Hey, Scully?" He squinted against the glare of stainless steel bathroom accessories. "Damn it." She was nowhere in view. He swapped departments. "Scully??"


	5. Chapter 5

"I forgot this place was here...," she said, feeling his presence by her side.

Her hand was tensed into a ball by her side. It was scooped up in his tanned mit of a hand. And squeezed.

"Mm," he hummed as he contemplated the area himself.  
  
It wasn't the children's department nor did it fall into any adult category. Half a dozen staged retreats for teens branched out in front of them. There were nooks for studying, sleeping and lounging, and all showed off whimsical, fun pieces to counter the mature aspects. Some high school girls were just leaving, their elaborate hand gestures to one another full of style ideas.  
  
It fell quiet as the girls' happy chatter faded. Scully picked out a particular setting with a loft bed and a novelty rug shaped like a bison. It was dark, edgy but relaxing. The string lights gave enough glow to illuminate the price tags. The bed linen was all grown-up and gunmetal gray, but there were punches of color and some quirky accessories. A picture of some brightly filled test tubes hung on the wall along with an artwork on bug entomology.  
  
She sat down on a futon couch and pulled a spherical basketball cushion into her arms for a hug. Her eyes wandered across the faux bedroom, sad yet intrigued.  
  
Mulder hung back. He treaded forwards, withdrew, and then hovered some more. It was like he was a chess piece in the hands of a novice player. He didn't know where to put himself. He only knew she was thinking about William and that wound kept right on bleeding. A muscle ticked in his jaw.  
  
There were a dozen Fiskbo picture frames all displaying  anonymous smiling faces. It got him wondering if William had any photos of family or friends in his bedroom. Mulder liked to think so, but at the same time it pricked his heart because he knew neither Scully or him would be featured in a photo gallery of William's loved ones. He glanced his eyes at her, wondering if she was thinking the same thing.  
  
"I don't want all those items I had you write down. I don't need the things in the cart either," she said, blue eyes briefly seeking him out.  
  
Scully looked on the verge of an apology and he answered hurriedly to preempt it. He knew she was wrestling with enough regrets than to worry about wasted time in Ikea. "That's ok." He nodded quickly for her. He'd abandoned the cart anyway. It was rolling towards a display of soap holders last time he checked.  
  
There was so much in ruin for them emotionally that filling a fireplace with candles, or adding a mirror to the entranceway, wasn't going to enhance their homelife environment.  
  
What their home truly needed was a replaceable table and an irreplaceable teenager.  
  
His attention fell on a stencilled design of a dreamcatcher on a throw pillow. Neither of them noticed it initially but the image now caused Scully to frown.  
  
"There's something...," she started to articulate, and tapped a finger.  
  
"There was a dreamcatcher in the van," he pointed out.  
  
"Yeah, that'll be it."  
  
An oversized map of the U.S. was displayed on a fake bedroom wall. Mulder nodded to it. "Do you...do you sense anything?"  
  
Scully shook her head. "I mean maybe an instinct that he's reaching out. A feeling that something has been set in motion." She looked at him. "I wish it was more."  
   
Her voice sounded damaged, like she screamed into a pillow every night. He wondered how much she still cried.  
  
Mulder plucked the Ikea pencil from above his ear and shrugged a 'why not?' at her before he sent it shooting at the map.  The pencil was small and mostly blunt. It flew from his hand and briefly jabbed into one corner of the map before dropping.  
  
"You see which State it hit?"  
  
"Too dark," she concluded.

Mulder stepped across the buffalo mat and sat beside her on the futon chair. Their thighs touched and knees rubbed.  
  
"This stuff's kinda cool," he said, watching her wring her hands.  
  
The smile she returned didn't quite reach her eyes.  
  
Mulder remembered the attic room. "I was thinking...what if we stuck one of these...," he toed the loft bed with his foot, "...up in the spare room." He heard her breath catch. "Doesn't do any harm," he whispered.  
  
"It's not healthy," she sighed.  
  
He dropped an arm around her narrow shoulders. "If the worst thing we ever do is put a high sleeper bed and a Play Station 4 in the spare room, I think we can be forgiven."  
  
She rested her head on his shoulder.  
  
"We just need to figure out where he can store his porn," said Mulder.  
  
Scully gasped and nudged his ribs. "That's my baby." She smiled.  
  
"Sorry, his Jane Austen collection then," he teased in an affected voice.  
  
His words were medicine to her. Because he was saying it was ok to have hope. Things weren't broken, there was just some assembly required. 


	6. Chapter 6

"Well, Scarecrow, we made it to kitchens," said Scully and their fingers tightened together.

A father passed by carrying a yawning toddler and an Ikea tunnel tent. They hadn't seen other shoppers milling around for a while now. Mulder's head turned right while hers looked left. They drew back to one another, feeling like they were the final two remaining after the Hunger Games.

Mulder saw a dining table and approached it like it was their trophy. His eyes squinted at the dimensions and he ran calculations in his head. A callused palm rode over the surface. It was smooth but just veneer. They didn't want the price-tag of solid wood; most of their accumulated wealth was put in trust for William.

Mulder nodded towards the warranty guarantee sticker. "With the way things are going, it won't last the month."

Scully's hair spilled to one side exposing a fresh contusion on her face. "Mulder, with the way things are going, we won't last the month."

He made a grab for one of the table legs and gave it a swift shake. He frowned, stood up, and called for Scully over his shoulder. His thumb pinched his chin.

"Hop up," he said suddenly and spanked the surface.

Her mouth popped open. "I don't think so..."

She sidestepped him but he caught some jacket sleeve and tugged her back with a "not so fast."

A service attendant walked through wearing a headset and sucking mints. She puttered about some shelves, paused to check stock level on a computer, then left.

"They expect customers to test out the furniture, Scully," he said, dropping his voice and dropping her arm.

"Within the boundaries of decency, Mulder." Her eyes widened. "You're not kidding, are you?"

"I just want to be completely satisfied...that we're making the right purchase." He gave her a knowing look, things had gotten heated in the kitchen before.

She bounced hair from her face to better vet the department. It was mute and without movement.

His smile killed the rest of her hesitation.

"That hip ok?" he asked while helping to prop her on the edge of the tabletop. Both their bodies had taken a recent beating.

She made an uncommitted sound.

His stomach brushed against her knees and they opened for him like a book. He stood between her thighs, feeling a spike in his arousal. "I'm going to twist it a little this way," he said, talking about her hip, and carefully drawing it towards his own. Their bodies didn't meet up.

"Mulder..." She blushed, curious and uncertain. At any moment they could be interrupted.

"You want to chitchat fengshui instead?"  
  
"Not really."

"We're fully clothed," he pointed out. His hands sculpted below their waists. "And this is purely theoretical," he allayed.

"Theoretical?"

"Mm." Gentle hands posed her pelvis again. Still no luck. He made an artist's frown. The tabletop was too high.

She gathered hair behind an ear, better exposing the skin of her ear, cheek and neck. Her lips parted.

He noticed it all.

"What if someone comes through?" she asked, because even conceptually, they still looked hot.

"Maybe stop making that face," he suggested, a finger tracing her jawbone.

"What face?"

"It looks like you're thinking about sex."

"I'm not," she mouthed before turning her pink cheek and sliding back to the floor.


	7. Chapter 7

There was a gallery of dining tables and he found one that was a better height. "And sturdier too," he said with another knowing look.  
  
"It's oak," she said. They were supposed to stay in budget. "But it is beautiful."  
  
Mulder looked her slowly up and down, and patted the table. "Up you go."  
  
He eased between her knees again. The contact was instant. His erection no longer lurked out of reach but stabbed against her leg.  
  
She bit down on her lip.  
  
"You ok?"  
  
He heard her moan in response.  
  
"What happened to your theoretical approach?" she asked.  
  
"Too abstract."  
  
They couldn't get more physical. Neither touched a zip. He wanted to, the way a hungry person wanted to eat. But there were shadows and whistles of staff still working.  
  
It didn't stop him from pushing inside his pants, or Scully from reaching her hips out, wanting to be filled.  
  
The heat was building. He had that aching, heavy feeling. He loved her, and the passion wasn't just in his head or heart, but rolling through his body. His mouth hunted her tongue and his thumb rubbed through her clothing. His hand knew its geography. It sketched patterns, genius little crop circles in her crotch.  
  
It was agreed - they were taking the table.  
  
"We might have to come back for a new bed soon," Mulder said as he walked on with an awkwardness to his step. He was going to kill the springs when he got her home.  
  



	8. Chapter 8

The rugs were new. The patterns were old. It was the one part of the Swedish superstore that didn't smell like laminate and lingonberry.  
  
Scully pulled him in.  
  
From the looms of South Asia came rugs in every size. It was dim, the colors of camel and coffee soaking up the light. Earthy, unplaceable smells lifted around them from the rugs draped in displays and stacked like chapatis.  
  
She pushed at this waistband. His denims lowered, and so did she. Her mouth, between his legs, was intimate and practised. Dewy, red kisses on taut, thin skin. He stopped taking notice of his surroundings. Desire buzzed.  
  
Mulder had no stamina for this.  
  
His dick dunked in and out of her mouth.  
  
It wasn't a feeling that could be replicated. He could never touch himself and feel this way. He gave low, low moans.  
  
His body remembered all the other little touches. It waited for those, anticipated them, felt conditioned. A tremble ran down his thigh. She scooped him in her hands, offered squeezes of stimulation. Finger pads stirred deeper responses.  
  
Mulder's breathing sped up and her tongue tucked around him.  
  
He unloaded and staggered. His palms landed on a woven pile.  
  
She told him to pick up his pants and the new season catalogue. He grunted something about eternity and tried to walk better than a baby deer.  
  
"Jesus, Mulder."  
  
To the warehouse and lastly the van. Flatpacks jammed into the back between a boxy old television and a suitcase of Langly's. It upset a pile of floppy disks.  
  
A cinnamon bun was torn in two.  
  
The radio still worked. It played the Ramones.


End file.
